Fragmented
by ChaosKirin
Summary: Because there likely won't be any sort of reactive episode dealing with Kyle's healing, I kind of needed to get some closure on the entire situation, and so I wrote this fic. It was hard to write a piece that both used Cartman as a source of healing and still kept him in character. I think I've managed this in some form or another. XD


The day arrived in a flurry of ecstasy for Eric Cartman, who'd eagerly awaited Kyle's release from the hospital for some time. Despite the fact the he was still injured from being struck by lightning, he climbed the stairs to his sort-of friend's room with renewed strength, for tucked into his coat, safe from the view of Kyle's parents, was his brand new iPad. His mother, so obviously distressed by her son's injury, bought him the thing as a get well present, and the best part about that was that said iPad was better than everyone else's.

He intended to rub it in Kyle's face, perhaps literally, and hoped that the mere sight of it would cause the other boy some great distress. He so loved seeing Kyle in distress, and the thought of it made the pains from God's thorough smiting seem not quite as bad.

He was almost giddy when he reached the bedroom, though, strangely, his euphoria faded when he saw Kyle sitting on the edge of his bed, staring vacantly at nothing.

Cartman wasn't sure if his heart sank, or if the tacos from lunch were coming back to haunt him. Of course, he assumed the latter, and impatiently thudded his stomach in order to convey the demand that they digest more quietly. "Your face is irritating my lunch," he said, sure that he'd get the desired reaction from Kyle, whose face was all cut up and ugly. In fact, it was so completely destroyed that it made the nine-year-old look as if he were closer to seventy, and so Cartman added, "You're like one of those freak kids—who, they're born and then they... age... really fast..."

He trailed off when he noticed that Kyle wasn't even acknowledging that he was there. Not even a glance.

"Kahl?" he asked, approaching the bed and waving a tentative hand in front of the other boy's face. Nothing happened, not even a flicker of recognition appeared.

Now that he was so close, he really SAW the scarring. Reconstructive surgeons had done a decent job with putting everything back where it was supposed to be, but they couldn't hide the jagged lines down Kyle's cheeks, the pulling of skin and muscle, or the absent expression in his eyes.

"Stupid Jew?" Cartman attempted.

Nothing.

Given that he was somewhat of an expert on weight, he noted that Kyle appeared to have lost quite a bit of it, and that there were several bowls of untouched soup around his bed. "...Are you not eating? Dude, after eating shit for days, I'd think you'd want something a little more appetizing."

Nothing.

As he shifted his considerable weight, Cartman felt – and thusly remembered – the iPad hidden in his coat. He started to reach for it, but some unexplainable feeling prevented him from revealing it. He was certain he was just bored with this visit already, and that nothing, not even a scared Jew, could salvage it. In fact, the very idea of Kyle's terrified expression bordered on revolting, which just made Cartman confused, which just made him angry. "Fine! Then you can just—You can just sit here and—"

"I fink you should go."

The tiny voice came from behind him. Despite being only half their age, Ike Broflovski was actually just as smart – if not smarter – than Cartman and his circle of friends. He was also pretty protective of his big brother, as evidenced by the angrily crossed arms and the brows lowered over his beady black Canadian eyes. Despite not having any qualms about picking on younger kids, Cartman liked Ike, because the kid had real potential to become an evil genius. Often, he'd pondered asking the kindergartner if he wanted to be The Coon's sidekick... And then he remembered that Ike would never turn on Kyle, which would just ruin everything. Damn kids and their damn loyalty.

"Go? But I just got here."

The angry stare remained plastered on Ike's face for another moment before his expression softened. "Come here fer a second."

After giving Kyle another scathing look, Cartman followed Ike out into the hallway. The little kid pulled his brother's door shut, though both of them likely understood that the gesture was pointless. Kyle wasn't listening. For all Cartman knew, Kyle wasn't even there, because for the last five minutes, that out-to-lunch expression remained. By the time Ike turned to face him again, Cartman was frowning.

"I know yer worried about Kai-uhl too," Ike started.

"Worried? About him? Puh."

The anger returned to Ike's face. "You are. You are worried about him, I can tell. Just admit it, fat-ass."

"Look, if your whole family vanished into thin air, I wouldn't care, mini-Jew."

Ike pointed at the stairs. "Get out of my house, or I'll kick yer ass."

Given the look of murder on Ike's face, Cartman was compelled to oblige immediately. Though unsure as to how Ike would possibly manage to kick his ass, he wasn't going to stick around to find out.

As he stepped out onto the Broflovski's porch, the little kid slammed the door behind him. Even worse was that Cartman could hear Kyle's mother telling Ike what a good boy he was for getting rid of Cartman. "Yeah, well, your whole family sucks!" he called back, before turning toward the street.

He walked home with his hands in his pockets. Even now, his stomach was bothering him, which started getting more irritating as time went on. Searching for a distraction, he pulled his iPad out of the inner pocket of his coat and admired its beauty and newness. Sure that the sight of his sparkly new technology would calm his stomach immediately, Cartman found that he was instead dismayed by the fact that the shimmery screen of his newest toy actually made him feel sicker. "You know what it is?" he said to it, caressing it lovingly. "It's those damn tacos. It's—it's like this association bullshit, right? My lunch is making me feel sick, so I'm—I'm associating that with you, and so I THINK you're making me feel sick. Well, I'm not going to fall for it, iPad. I love you. And one day, iPad, you and I are going to march over to Kyle's house and show him."

For just a second, he believed what he was saying. But the triumphant feeling passed more quickly than it had come, and Cartman found himself putting the device back into the inner pocket of his coat. It remained there as he arrived at his house, and as he picked up the phone to call the one person who could snap Kyle out of his funk long enough for Cartman to go back over to his house and put him back into a funk.

Stan picked up on the second ring.

"Hey. I need you to go and fix your best friend. As soon as possible would be nice."

A pause followed, before Stan replied, "Huh? Is this Cartman?"

"I'm seriously. I went over there to show him my iPad, and he didn't even acknowledge I was there. There's something wrong with him, Stan. And I don't know why."

"What do you mean, you 'don't know why'?"

Why did Stan sound so incredulous? "Look, it's VERY SIMPLE. I went over there to rub my iPad in Kahl's face – perhaps literally – and I got up to his room and he was just staring at a wall. So I need you to go over there and snap him out of it!"

There was no answer from the other line.

"Jesus CHRIST. Are you all just ignoring me or something?"

"Cartman. Why would you go over there with an iPad KNOWING what Kyle's been through?"

"That's the beauty of it, Stan. Because of what he's been through, he's going to flip out. He's... Maybe he'll go through the roof. Can you imagine that, Stan? Can you? If you fix him for me, I'll let you come with me and watch." Cartman was thrilled to find that the glee was returning to his voice. Everything was going to be okay! Stan would repair Kyle, and Cartman would get his reaction. Win-win.

"Try to have some empathy for once, fatass," Stan said, and then he slammed the phone down loud enough to hurt Cartman's ear.

"GAH DAMMIT," Cartman yelled, throwing the phone off to the side and pressing the heel of his hand into his ringing ear. "What the hell is wrong with everyone today!?"

Why couldn't they enjoy what had happened to Kyle? It hadn't happened to any of them, after all. They hadn't been forced to endure any of it! Bad stuff happening to other people was hilarious, god-dammit!

For the first time since he'd gotten it, Cartman actually had a practical use for his iPad other than randomly emailing people or playing with his overpriced apps. Specifically, he had to look up the definition of the word 'empathy,' as he had absolutely no idea what Stan was talking about when he'd told Cartman to have some. If acquiring empathy was the key to fixing everything, then he was going to do his best to get it.

When he saw the definition, he wasn't so sure he wanted it. How could anyone in good conscience ask him to feel what Kyle was feeling? There was no way he was going to subject himself to THAT. Clearly, in order to understand Kyle, Stan believed that the best course of action would be to put himself into the same situation as Kyle, and that just wasn't happening.

There had to be a better answer.

About a half hour later, after he'd made the necessary preparations, he stood at Butters' door, facing the blond boy with both a stapler and a pair of scissors in-hand. "Okay. Butters, I need you to come with me. I'm going to staple you and Clyde together."

"...What." Butters tilted his head. The expression on his face suggested that he wasn't keen on the idea.

"Stan told me to have some empathy. And there's no way I'm stapling my face to some Asian guy's ass, so I need you and Clyde to do it for me, and then tell me what you feel, so I can understand how Kahl feels. Kevin Stoley's dad is from China or something, so we're going to get him really drunk..." He managed to manipulate the stapler and scissors enough to pull a can of beer out of his pocket. "And get him to help, too. Everyone knows that Asians are lightweights. So I think one can of beer should do it."

Butters rubbed his forehead, and Cartman got the distinct impression that despite the fact that Butters was his go-to guy for matters such as this, he wasn't going to help. It did seem like a stupid idea, even though it shouldn't have seemed that way at all, since all of Cartman's ideas were genius, gold-plated plans that were absolutely fool-proof and guaranteed to never fail. He wasn't sure why he readily dropped the scissors and the stapler without arguing the point.

"Does your dad drink beer?" he asked, holding the can out to Butters.

"Um. You wanna come in and stick it in the... in the fridge?" Butters asked, wringing his hands. "If my dad catches me holding that, he'll... he'll ground me for a month, and I'm... I like being able to go outside and..."

"Fine, Butters." Cartman pushed his way past the other boy and made his way to the kitchen. "I have to do everything myself, don't I? At least TELL me what to do about Kahl. Everyone thinks it's this big secret and I'm just supposed to KNOW. Well." He yanked open the fridge and slammed the beer down on the nearest shelf. Unfortunately, it wasn't placed in any sort of alphabetical order with the other foods in the fridge. "Well I don't know, okay? And no one wants to help me."

"Wul, I'd love to help you, Eric, but I don't... I really don't know how, either. I mean, me an' Kyle are friends an' all, but he... Well, with what he's been through..."

"Remember when you and I went to California to rescue him?" Cartman started. Butters nodded. "We went there, and he was there, and ... And I got him and his whole stupid family out of there, but I don't know how to bring him back from this, Butters. I don't know where to go to help him."

Idly, Cartman fiddled with the foods in the refrigerator, shuffling them into more disarray. When he finally closed the door and turned to look at Butters, he found that the other boy was crying.

"What the fuck?" he asked intelligently.

"That – that was beautiful, Eric. I didn't know you were so poetical and ... and stuff." Butters sniffled, wiping his nose with one sleeve.

"I'm not being poetical, asshole! I just want to know how to help Kyle!"

Butters sniffled again. "M—my dad says that if I wanna understand someone, I should... I should walk in their shoes for awhile. You... you know? You walk in their shoes and then you... you understand what they're –"

Cartman rolled his eyes. More of that touchy-feely bullshit. Everyone in South Park was insane, apparently! "Look, if you aren't going to help me, I'm just going to GO."

"But—But Eric, I AM tryin' ta—"

By the time Cartman reached the front door of the house, Butters was somewhere behind him bawling.

-  
Very carefully, very gingerly, Cartman tip-toed down the street back and forth, over and over, as he attempted to figure out – as Butters had instructed – what Kyle was actually feeling. He imagined that the answer would just come to him if he thought about it hard enough, but apparently the answer was out of his grasp, which just made him angry, because apparently everyone else understood it perfectly.

Eventually, he came upon Clyde and Craig, who were walking in the other direction.

Craig asked, "What are you doing?"

Cartman pointed down to his feet, which were stuffed into shoes that were much too small for him. "What's it look like, asshole? I'm walking in Kyle's shoes."

Clyde looked at Craig. Craig, still looking straight ahead, said flatly, "Why."

"Because Butters told me that if I want to understand what Kahl's been through, I should walk in his shoes! God, is this so frikkin' hard for you all to get?" Cartman paused long enough to ease one of his feet out of one of the shoes. "It was okay at first, but I've been wearing these shoes for hours and now all I can think about is how much they HURT."

Neither Craig nor Clyde responded, though the latter looked like he was about to laugh. Eventually, Clyde even had to cover his mouth with both hands to prevent said laughter from occurring. "Oh. You think it's funny, Clahd?" Cartman asked.

"Well, yeah," Clyde said.

Craig sighed. "As hilarious as this is to watch—" he said with a straight face, "I'm on my way to Tweek's house. If we end up watching grass grow, it'll probably be more productive than what you're trying to do."

As he walked off, Clyde called after him, "I'll catch up in a bit."

Without looking back, Craig waved one hand.

"Asshole," Cartman muttered.

Clyde shook his head, still suppressing hysterics. "Uh. Look. Butters didn't mean what he said literally."

That jerk, Cartman thought to himself. Was Butters trying to make him look stupid? Well, apparently it worked. And despite the fact that Cartman normally needed no help making an ass out of himself, he'd gotten it in spades. And now that his feet were freed from the confines of Kyle's tiny shoes, he could actually think about the fact that walking down the street wearing someone else's footwear wasn't going to help him understand what they'd gone through.

"How did you get a pair of Kyle's shoes?" Clyde asked.

"I snuck into his room at night," Cartman admitted without hesitation. "He was awake, too, just staring. I thought he'd call his mom or something, but he didn't even see me."

The smile faded from Clyde's face. "God, he's that bad, huh?"

"That bad? What do you mean? Do you know how he feels?" Perhaps chancing upon Clyde and Craig was what Butters had meant when he said to walk in Kyle's shoes. By walking, he'd eventually run into someone who knew how Kyle felt!

Clyde shook his head. "Well, no, it didn't happen to me—"

Cartman cut him off. "That's what I've been saying! It didn't happen to me, so I can't understand! You get this, right?" Struck with a sudden thought, he pulled his iPad out of his pocket, and was actually surprised when the other boy took a step backward. "...What?"

"Dude, after what happened to Kyle, I'm never touching anything from Apple again. They're insane." Clyde eyed the device suspiciously, from a decent distance. "I'm... kinda worried about the fact that you immediately went out and got one."

"Jesus Christ, Clahd. It happened to Kahl, not you. What do you have to worry about?" Cartman turned the screen on. "I was just gonna tell you that I was gonna shove this in Kahl's face as soon as he comes around, like this-"

He held it out to Clyde, and was absolutely delighted when the other boy took another step back. But then, Clyde scowled and made a grab for the iPad. Cartman just barely managed to pull it out of his reach.

"You do that again," Clyde said, "And I'll break it."

This was so odd. Clearly – CLEARLY people were affected by Kyle's run-in with Apple, and yet here Clyde was, stating that he didn't know how Kyle felt. These two ideas seemed to be completely at odds with each other. As he tried to bring the two concepts of both knowing and NOT knowing together in his mind, Cartman scratched his cheek with the corner of his beloved iPad. Slowly, Clyde's temperament became more neutral again.

"Okay," Clyde said. "I'm going to pretend that you really don't GET this, and try to explain it to you. You know how you feel when you're angry?"

Cartman nodded.

"How about when you're embarrassed. Or sad. Or scared."

Again, Cartman nodded.

"Well, you have to imagine yourself feeling all those at the same time. And... And they're so powerful that you actually... can't handle them all. So in order to deal with all those feelings, you just shut down." Clyde rubbed the back of his head as he thought. "That's what you have to do. You have to pretend you feel all those at once. I mean, I don't have to go through what Kyle did to know how he felt."

"You are such a god-damned Hippie, Clahd."

"Shut up, ass-wipe. I was trying to help." He stepped around Cartman's considerable personage and started heading in the direction Craig had gone.

"Well, you didn't! You didn't, Clahd! You're about as good at helping as I'd be in a Miss America pageant!"

As Clyde flipped him off, Cartman wondered if he'd been picking up habits from Craig.

So walking in someone's shoes didn't mean he was literally supposed to walk in someone's shoes. And feeling how someone felt might not actually mean he had to go through what someone went through in order to understand how it felt. Perhaps this was all theoretical. But what did they mean? Why couldn't they just say it? If only someone would TELL him what to do!

Wait.

"Oh my GOD. I get it," Cartman said, his face lighting up with understanding. "I know what they're saying now. It's... It's so simple!"

Unsure of why he hadn't thought of it before, Cartman rushed home. All he had to do - if he got this correctly – was dream about going through what Kyle had. That way – while he was dreaming, he could BE Kyle, thusly walking in the other boy's shoes, AND he could experience what Kyle had without actually having to go through it himself!

Unfortunately, the only thing he dreamed about that night was a huge dish of ice cream that never ran out. A good dream, to be sure, but it didn't help him understand any better.

He also found that as time went on – as he went to school day after day only to find Kyle not there – nothing seemed fun anymore. Slamming a third-grade girl's head down into the drinking fountain hard enough to break one of her teeth just wasn't as amusing when Kyle wasn't around to yell at him for it. Making fun of other kids' ethnicities and religious beliefs was hardly the same as making fun of Kyle's Jewishness. He knew something was really wrong when Stan and Kenny actually stopped him on the playground after school to ask him if he was okay.

He was even more surprised – as were they – when his answer was simply, "I miss Kahl."

Later that day, Cartman again found himself climbing the stairs up to Kyle's room, under the suspicious eye of little Ike, who still didn't seem to trust his intentions. Cartman wasn't there to tease Kyle with an iPad, though. He was there to try to empathize. To understand. He couldn't make himself get to that point, though, because he had no idea what it entailed, and he wondered if maybe he talked to Kyle long enough, he'd get his friend to finally open up and tell him what to do. All Cartman really understood was that something bad had happened to Kyle, and that now Kyle was unable to get over it. He also understood – somewhere down in the depths of the emotional part of his black heart that hadn't been accessed for years – that Kyle needed to not be harassed right now.

"So... What do I do?" he asked, upon reaching the boy's open door. Kyle was still sitting on the edge of the bed, which worried Cartman. Had he even been moved? Had anyone tried to get him to lie down to sleep? Judging by the black rings around Kyle's eyes, he hadn't gotten any rest in days. The sight of him made Cartman feel like crying, which was annoying, because he couldn't understand what was going on inside his own mind. This should be funny. He should be laughing, because Kyle had suffered something so unbearably awful that he wasn't even really Kyle anymore.

Something so unbearably awful. Pain. Cartman recalled what it was like to feel pain. What if, he wondered, that pain just never went away? What if it persisted, even after the source of the pain was gone?

He climbed up onto the bed, expecting no reaction. Unlike the last time he'd been here, though, Kyle blinked, apparently acknowledging that something was going on around him, and so Cartman was somewhat encouraged. Then he noticed the still unhealed scarring around Kyle's mouth, and remembered what it was like to feel humiliated.

His immediate response would be to escape the source of the humiliation. But what if he couldn't? What if he was trapped?

It was a fleeting thought, but Cartman acted on it. Hesitantly, he raised one hand and placed it on Kyle's shoulder, but the contact was so unwelcome that under the Terrance and Phillip pajamas, the boy's skin actually shuddered at the contact. Stunned, Cartman pulled his hand away as if he'd been burned. Awaiting some additional interaction from Kyle, but getting none, he reached for a shoulder again, only for Kyle to pull away just enough so that the action was unquestionably deliberate.

Kyle was still in reach, and, logically, the snub made Cartman want to put his hand back on Kyle's shoulder all the more. Something amazing happened, though – Cartman understood. He fit together a connection in his mind and drew a conclusion without being told directly what he was supposed to be understanding in the first place. Kyle had been violated through touch, and now, he didn't want to be touched at all. It made sense that this avoidance spoke louder to him than words ever could, which meant that for the first time in his life, Cartman was experiencing true empathy.

He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

He lowered his hand to the bed, and for good measure, scooted another inch away from the other boy. He was rewarded with another blink.

After waiting for several very long minutes, he couldn't help it anymore. He had to say something.

"I want you to be okay, all right? I don't know why. I mean, at first I thought it was all kinds of awesome. And—And it still..." He paused, shaking his head. He'd been about to say that he still thought it was awesome, but he just didn't. None of this was entertaining, or fun, or amusing anymore. Somewhere along the line, it'd gone stale and unenjoyable. Irritated, Cartman swore.

"I stole a pair of your fucking uncomfortable shoes, because... Because Butters told me I should try walking in them. And then I tried to make myself dream about having my face stapled to some Asian guy's ass so I could understand what it felt like because Clyde became a hippie and told me I needed to feel what you felt. But that didn't work, either. Then at school... Stan and Kenny asked me what was wrong and..."

He sighed, closing his eyes.

"...And?"

The voice came from Kyle, but was so quiet that Cartman almost missed it. The other boy was still staring blankly, without any expression whatsoever. Maybe he'd been hearing things, but he still decided that he'd finish the statement.

"Well, I... I told them that I missed you."

There was no reaction. Again, Cartman closed his eyes and turned away. It was stupid to think that Kyle had said anything. Perhaps he just had to accept that his friend was really and truly gone, that he wasn't hearing anything.

Maybe knowing that was what prompted what Cartman said next. "I hate knowing that you're stuck like this. I... Want to believe you're still in there, Kahl, you know? You're my friend. I meant what I said, too, that I miss you. I hope you heard me."

He started to slide off the bed, only to find that Kyle's fingers were grappling at his coat, eventually finding a hold.

There they sat for a long time. Cartman was afraid to move or say anything for fear that Kyle would relapse if the moment ended too soon. The blank stare remained, though it slowly became more familiar, and less vacant. "Kahl?" Cartman ventured quietly.

He'd never really SEEN someone break before. Sure, he'd watched it happen on numerous occasions, but part of really seeing it was understanding how it felt, and why there were tears coming to Kyle's eyes. This new revelation of understanding was extremely uncomfortable. "Stop. Stop crying, Kahl. I swear I'll—"

Suddenly, he was being hugged, and moreover, he found that he was so god-damned HAPPY... that he was returning the embrace without minding in the least that Kyle was sobbing loudly into his shoulder. The stupid Jew was probably soaking his coat, too... But that was okay, because it meant that he'd found the other boy. Wherever Kyle had gone, he was back.

From where he was sitting, he could see the angry face of Kyle's mother appearing in the doorway of the bedroom. She probably thought that Cartman had succeeding in doing something terrible to her son, but her entire demeanor changed when she saw them. It was probably the only time ever that he and Sheila shared a genuine smile, and after a moment, she quietly dissolved into tears herself before leaving the boys alone. After many days of being in an almost completely catatonic state, something Cartman had done made Kyle come around.

And he was quietly infuriated that he wasn't sure what it was that he'd done.

Cartman held Kyle for a long time until the sobbing subsided.

"I still hate you," Kyle muttered, his voice quiet and weak from disuse.

"Wouldn't have it any other way, Kahl," Cartman responded. The embrace persisted, but only because Cartman didn't want Kyle to know that he'd been crying, too. After all, that would make it look like he actually cared, and that would just destroy their whole friendship.

-

Epilogue:

Two days later, Kyle returned to school. Cartman rubbed his iPad in Kyle's face. Literally.

Unamused, Kyle soundly broke Cartman's nose.


End file.
